


sleeping configurations

by miraphora



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sharing a Bed, Tumblr Prompt, cuddle prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 20:50:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11238942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraphora/pseuds/miraphora
Summary: They cultivate new habits, as they grow into each other’s space.





	sleeping configurations

They cultivate new habits, as they grow into each other’s space.

Jyn sleeps on alert--sitting upright or laid out on her back, but never leaving herself exposed. She clutches at her crystal, dreams of a faded past and a murky future, and wakes all at once to her surroundings.

Cassian isn’t much different, though he has had the luxury, she might say, of a berth in a secure base, where she has been most recently imprisoned. But he sleeps tight, curled in on himself.

They both wake and know where the nearest weapon is to hand.

But as months pass, this control slips, dissolves, evolves.

It begins on Hoth, with the chill that creeps inexorably into the heated quarters, defying insulation and technological artifice. Cassian loathes the ice planet, the cold, the reminders of his childhood. He curls around her in his sleep, seeking warmth, the lean, wiry length of him shivering against her.

She sleeps warm, but not here, and she welcomes his sleeping embrace reluctantly. In the mornings, she pries herself away before he wakes, pretending nothing has changed, as the frigid air creeps between them. As a barrier, it is ineffective and temporary.

When they are apart, they feel the lack, but are unable to acknowledge it. Cassian wakes to find his arm outstretched across empty space, his back pressed to the wall to make room for an absent partner. Jyn wakes curled on her side, skin pebbling from the chill of deep space against the skin of her back, feeling exposed, missing the warmth of him cradled into the hollows of her knees, the blade’s edge of his jaw tucked down against her shoulder.

Returning to base, to the cramped officer’s quarters that she has occupied as thoroughly as she has occupied his heart, becomes a welcome reward. They fill their shared space organically, limbs tangle, lips mesh. In the mornings, they find themselves entwined, foreheads pressed gently together, fingers curled and hands clasped between their chests.

Waking is hazy, indistinct, soft in a way it never was, alone. Trust makes their bodies languid, their touches slow with leisure, with newfound wonder. They wind their arms around one another, breath mingling, and ignore the chill and the beckoning responsibilities. For a moment, upon waking, they indulge in belonging.

**Author's Note:**

> Eventually I might expand this. I have an idea to write an introspective little piece on the theme of "where do your fingers go (when you sleep)" (thanks Cake) that catalogs how their sleeping habits adjust to bed sharing. I may have riffed a bit on those unwritten ideas for this.


End file.
